


Vicarious

by caloriebomb



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Belly Kink, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caloriebomb/pseuds/caloriebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean Smith had anticipated a few difficulties when he and Sam began to cohabitate: he knew, for example, that he could be a little uptight at times, while Sam was more laid-back, and he swore to himself not to get bent out of shape over little things like shoes in the house or toothpaste with the cap left off. Sam really made an effort to be as neat as possible, and Dean, in turn, made an effort to relax his own strict neuroses so Sam could feel comfortable in what was now his new home.</p>
<p>He hadn’t, however, expected the problem that arose in the first week. Namely, that their ideas regarding food were vastly different."</p>
<p>(Or, Dean Smith fattens up Sam Wesson and they both have a grand old time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vicarious

Dean Smith had anticipated a few difficulties when he and Sam began to cohabitate: he knew, for example, that he could be a little uptight at times, while Sam was more laid-back, and he swore to himself not to get bent out of shape over little things like shoes in the house or toothpaste with the cap left off. Sam really made an effort to be as neat as possible, and Dean, in turn, made an effort to relax his own strict neuroses so Sam could feel comfortable in what was now his new home.

He hadn’t, however, expected the problem that arose in the first week. Namely, that their ideas regarding food were vastly different.

Dean had been on a diet for… well, forever, it seemed. Ever since he’d set his sights on professional success, anyway. Good looks, he knew, were an asset in the business world, and it had gotten to the point where he barely thought about it anymore – he didn’t miss refined sugar, or carbohydrates, or butter, not really – a salad, he told himself, was just as delicious as a steak. 

Sam, however, had other ideas. 

“What’s all this?” Dean asked, bewildered, when Sam came back from his first grocery shopping trip.

“Food,” Sam said, looking up from where he was unpacking several frozen pizzas. He looked puzzled. “Didn’t you hear me say I was going to the store?”

“Yeah, but…” Dean lifted a family-size box of macaroni and cheese. “I can’t eat this stuff, Sam. You know that.”

Sam dimpled at him. “I got you your watercress and wheatgrass, don’t worry. Check the fridge.”

Dean opened it, and sure enough, it was packed with the veggies and fruits and supplements that Dean lived off. But the fridge was also holding things it hadn’t held in years: blocks of cheddar cheese, a gallon of whole milk, several sticks of butter, a chocolate cake, for chrissakes…

Sam came up behind Dean and hooked his chin over Dean’s shoulder. “Is this okay? I mean, I’m happy to eat healthy dinners with you, but I’m not following the same diet you are, and I like to pack something other than lettuce for lunch, you know?”

“Sure,” Dean said, doubtfully. “This is your house too, man. Buy what you want.”

Sam patted Dean’s flat belly. “Worried you’re going to slip up?”

“Hell no,” Dean scoffed. And he wasn’t worried about that, truly – if anything, he was worried about Sam’s health, eating this crap. 

Later, after a dinner of grilled chicken and broccoli, Sam cut himself an enormous slice of chocolate cake and ate it at the table while Dean ate his tiny bowl of non-fat blood orange sorbet. Dean watched him curiously. It had been so long since he’d had food like that, but watching Sam put a creamy buttercreamed forkful between his lips, he could remember the smooth texture, the sweetness, the heavy pleasure of it. 

Sam paused mid-bite, raised his eyebrows. “Yes?” he said.

Dean grinned, caught. “Just like watching you enjoy that,” he said.

“Living vicariously?” Sam asked.

“Guess so.”

Sam scraped the tines of his fork across his plate, sucked off the excess frosting with evident pleasure, then passed his finger over the crumbs.

“There’s a whole rest of the cake,” Dean said. “No need to lick the plate.”

Sam cast the cake a speculative glance, and Dean’s heart quickened strangely. He wanted Sam to eat another piece, he realized. Wanted to watch him lick the chocolate off the fork, wanted to watch the crumbs cling to the sides of his mouth. There was something decadent about watching Sam eat something Dean would never touch. Something exciting.

“Here,” Dean said, and took Sam’s empty plate to the counter, where he cut another slice, even bigger than before. 

“I’m never going to finish that,” Sam said, when he saw its size. “I’m too full.”

But he did finish, and Dean watched him avidly the whole time. 

Later, both of them shirtless in bed, Dean ran an idle hand down Sam’s chest and stomach. Sam was strong, and firm, and thin, but he wasn’t as trim as Dean – there was a hint of softness to his belly, a coating over his abs that Dean didn’t have. The difference between cake and sorbet, Dean figured, thought it seemed remarkable that Sam wasn’t bigger, given how much he ate. 

Hmmm, Dean thought, and kissed his shoulder.

*

The next morning, he made a plate of bacon and fried Sam two eggs instead of serving him the egg whites Dean was eating. Sam grinned when he saw the food, startled and delighted.

“Figure I don’t need to subject you to my own stupid rules,” Dean said. “Big strong man like you needs some meat, right?”

“You know it,” Sam growled, fake-biting Dean’s neck, and tucked into the bacon and eggs with great gusto. He drank two glasses of whole milk, too, and had a couple slices of buttered toast while Dean ate his egg whites. Then, he fried another egg in the bacon grease and ate it right out of the skillet, sopping up the excess grease with another piece of buttered toast. Dean watched, fascinated.

“You eat like that every morning, when you lived alone?” he asked.

“Nah,” Sam said, swigging the last of his milk. “I didn’t used to eat breakfast at all, just a granola bar or something. It’s lonely when you have no one to sit with.”

“True,” Dean said, and let Sam plant a milky kiss on his cheek. “Well, get used to it. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sam said, and patted his stomach. “Oof. That was good.”

“What’re you taking for lunch?”

“Ramen,” Sam said. “Kind of my go-to.” He flushed suddenly. “I eat like a college kid, huh?”

Dean laughed. “Little bit.”

*

There was a meeting that afternoon, and afterward the boardroom was filled with the lunch that Sandover had provided: roast beef and cheddar sandwiches, bags of chips, and stacks of little cheesecake squares. Dean thought of Sam with his one sad package of ramen, and found a brown bag to put together a little lunch for him. Well, not little – he put two sandwiches, two bags of chips, and about eight of those little cheesecakes, thinking vaguely that Sam could eat half now and half tomorrow. The cheesecakes, in particular, looked delicious, and Dean thought he’d like to see Sam take pleasure in devouring them. 

But by the time he walked into the IT breakroom Sam was already finishing his bowl of ramen, his eyes lighting up when he saw Dean come in.

“Aw,” Sam said, when he peeked into the bag. “Thanks, baby.”

“Looks like I’m too late,” Dean said, but he handed Sam a cheesecake anyway.

“I’ll save the rest for later,” Sam said, taking an absentminded bite of the cake. “I always get hungry about an hour before we go home, anyway. Shit, that’s delicious.” He fished another cheesecake square out of the bag and nibbled on it. “How’s your day going?”

Dean stayed to chat for about a half hour, during which, to his delight, Sam ate three more cheesecake squares and a bag of potato chips. By the time Dean stood up to leave, Sam was unwrapping one of the sandwiches and had taken a huge bite. “Too good to wait,” he said, and beamed as Dean ruffled his hair. “You spoil me.”

“You know it,” Dean said. He liked spoiling Sam. It gave him a deep, sweet pleasure to take care of his boy like this, and there was something strangely exciting about watching Sam eat these forbidden foods, simply because Dean gave them to him. Dean knew he was messed-up from years of dieting, that he could get such an illicit thrill from watching his boyfriend eat cheesecake, but he got a real thrill nonetheless. 

“See you at home,” Sam said, mouth full of beef and cheese, and Dean left.

*

For dinner, Dean made grilled fish with steamed kale, but he made the family-style box of macaroni and cheese, too. It called for a quarter of a stick of butter, but Dean, stomach jolting pleasurably, put in the whole stick. Sam didn’t care, he knew, and it felt so daring, to do such a thing. He filled half his own plate with kale, and half of Sam’s plate with the cheesy pasta.

He was rewarded with a huge, dimpled grin, and the sight of Sam cleaning his plate in record time and going back up for more. 

“There’s only a little left,” Dean said at the counter, after Sam had cleared his plate a second time. “Here, why don’t you just –” And he tipped the rest of the macaroni onto Sam’s plate. The orange, greasy mess covered the entire plate – Dean had fibbed, there’d been at least two servings left, but Sam didn’t protest at all, just picked up his spoon and reapplied himself.

 

By the time Dean had cleared the table, Sam had eaten the whole box – which meant he’d eaten a whole stick of butter. A whole stick of butter. That was 1600 calories alone, while Dean’s entire dinner had only been 300. The contrast was dizzying, and something about it turned Dean on to an amazing degree.

“Dessert?” he asked, and when Sam nodded, he cut him a giant slice of cake and added a huge scoop of the ice cream Sam had put in the freezer.

Sam ate it all, but shook his head when Dean offered more ice cream. “God,” he said, “I can’t eat another bite.” He had one hand on his stomach, heel of his hand pressing in, and he let out a deep burp. “’Scuse me. Fuck. I’m so full. Let’s go lie down on the couch and watch a movie.”

Disappointed, Dean put the ice cream back. He couldn’t think of an excuse to make Sam eat more, but he found that he desperately wanted him to. Where was this coming from?

That night, Dean explored Sam’s body again. His belly was, indeed, incredibly full, bloated from the big meal, and Dean could feel the round firmness of it, stuffed with food. It didn’t look all that different, just a little bit rounder, a tiny bit noticeably bigger, but just the tiny difference got Dean so blindingly hard he came about two seconds after Sam grabbed his cock.

“Wow,” Sam murmured in his ear. “What are you, thirteen?” 

“Sorry,” Dean said, not sorry at all, and Sam laughed softly and nibbled his earlobe. Even the feeling of Sam’s teeth made Dean think of watching Sam eat, and he wondered, already turned-on again, just how much he could make Sam eat. And if it resulted in a slight expansion of Sam’s narrow waist – even better. The thought was unbearably exciting. And it was a thrilling challenge. 

*

The next morning, on top of 2 pieces of buttered toast, 2 rashers of bacon, 2 eggs fried in bacon grease, and 2 glasses of whole milk, Dean convinced Sam to have another piece of the chocolate cake, and to take a slice to work, since, he said, it “seems to be getting strangely hard in the fridge.”

“Chocolate for breakfast,” Sam said around a mouthful. “I feel so grown-up.”

Dean laughed. “Except you’re bringing ramen for lunch again. Not quite so grown-up.”

Sam frowned. “True.”

But Dean had a plan in that regard. He waited until Sam’s lunch break was almost over, to make certain he’d already eaten the ramen, and then he brought up half a pepperoni pizza from the cafeteria.

“Another board meeting,” he lied, when he dropped it on Sam’s desk. Sam didn’t even hesitate, just pushed aside his emptied ramen bowl and picked up a piece of the pizza, began chewing with gusto. Dean saw a chocolate-smeared piece of plastic in Sam’s garbage can and knew Sam had already eaten the cake he’d brought.

Sam ate two slices of pepperoni, then groaned and pushed it away. “Full,” he said.

“Sure you don’t want more?” Dean asked. “I’ll take it back upstairs if you don’t, and see if anyone else wants some.”

Dean knew Sam well. He knew that Sam might not be hungry for more pizza, but the thought that it would be gone would spur him on. And sure enough, Sam reached for another slice. And, since Dean hung around for a while longer, another. 

Four pieces of pepperoni pizza. It was amazing to Dean. Sam looked a little uncomfortable by the end, letting out a long burp and then a series of shorter ones. 

“I should get back to work,” Dean said, and left the remaining two slices of pizza on Sam’s desk. When he called down fifteen minutes later, Sam was chewing.

*

For dinner, he made something for himself that he knew Sam despised: turnip and apple salad, and egg white quiche. For Sam, he brought home a bucket of fried chicken and a bucket of mashed potatoes from KFC, with several rolls and a large side of gravy.

“One of my clients gave me a coupon,” Dean explained. “I sure as hell wasn’t going to use it, but then I thought maybe my junk-loving boyfriend might want to clog his arteries some more.”

Sam ate everything Dean put in front of him. He used up all six of the individual butter packets that came with the meal, and when Dean set out the butter dish, he used a large amount of that, too. Dean was astonished at how much Sam could pack away. The pile of bones grew, and the potatoes diminished, and all of a sudden there was nothing left.

Except the carrot cake Dean had brought home. Sam ate one huge slice with a few generous scoops of ice cream, and tried to decline when Dean pressed another piece on him.

“C’mon,” Dean wheedled, “help me out. Carrot cake is my weakness, I don’t want it in the house.”

“Dean,” Sam said, slightly red-faced from eating, “do you realize I’ve had three pieces of cake today? One for breakfast, one before lunch, and now this. I can’t eat any more, dude.”

“I’m just gonna toss it, then,” Dean said, resigned. “Otherwise I’m gonna give in.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to give in now and then,” Sam said gently.

“Yes, it would. I haven’t had sugar in five years – it’d probably send me into cardiac arrest!”

Sam laughed, but Dean saw his eyes stray to the cake. “Fine,” he said. “Gimme some more. I can’t let you waste it.”

“Attaboy,” Dean said, and Sam ate another piece.

He was dazed, afterwards, in something of a food-coma, and he lay on the couch breathing heavily. Dean could see the slight push of his full belly beneath his worn t-shirt, and it was all he could do not to go over there and bite it.

“I’m so full,” Sam moaned. “I can’t believe I did that. I feel like a little kid on his birthday, too much cake and ice cream.”

Dean splayed a hand over the warm roundness of his small belly. “There’s a lot of cake in here, huh?”

Sam put his hand over Dean’s. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?” Dean said, and began rubbing slow circles on the firm skin.

*

Once Dean started encouraging Sam to eat more, it quickly became a habit for both of them. Sam could eat mindlessly, and would, if Dean put food in front of him. It was almost too easy. In just a week, he was eating the same thing every morning, without questioning it: 6 rashers of bacon, 3 eggs with melted cheese scrambled in the bacon fat, 2 pieces of toast grilled in bacon fat and then buttered, 2 glasses of whole milk with hershey’s syrup, and some of whatever pastry was on hand. Usually donuts, once Dean realized Sam’s weakness for them, but sometimes a piece of pie, or a piece of cake, or a buttered scone. 

And he was only too happy to let Dean start taking care of his lunches, too. The thing was, Sam liked being taken care of: he was the baby of his family, and he was used to it. It was default for him to sit back and let someone else run the show, and Dean reveled in his role as protector and caregiver.

So Dean made an arrangement with the cafeteria, and every day at noon someone would bring Sam lunch: a double cheeseburger with fries and onion rings, or a personal-sized pizza with all the fixings and a side of potato salad, or a giant serving of macaroni and cheese and several buttered rolls… the most heavy, delicious, calorific things Dean could think of. Always dessert, too, and lots of it – cookies, brownies, small pies, cheesecake, Ding-dongs, etc. 

And Sam was happy simply not to have to worry about where his lunch was coming from. Dean would come down and watch Sam plow through everything the cafeteria had delivered. If it was taking him longer to finish lunch, Sam didn’t seem to notice – he ate steadily, fast at first and then slowing down as fullness took him, and Dean loved watching the progression. First those fast, absentminded bites, inhaling half his food with a hearty glee, and then slower, as if it was getting hard for him to swallow, but he kept eating. By the end he’d be taking these labored, difficult sips of air, then burping extravagantly and taking another bite, then taking another breath, another burp, another bite, all the while chatting to Dean about his day, his co-workers, the people who couldn’t figure out how to turn their computers on.

Dinner was fun because Dean made it his mission to make Sam eat a stick of butter every night. It was surprisingly easy, since butter melted down – he’d put a stick of butter into marinara sauce, or mashed potatoes, or garlic bread, and watch as Sam unknowingly ate it all. The power was intoxicating. Two servings of steak, buttered noodles, mashed potatoes, buttered bread, finished off with two pieces of pie covered liberally in ice cream, and then later a mug of “cocoa” which Dean made secretly by melting down chocolate ice cream – all in a night, for Sam.

It was no surprise that the weight began piling on almost immediately.

By the end of the first week, Sam was unbuttoning his pants by the end of dinner, leaning back in his chair and patting his slightly rounder belly with a burp of satisfaction. 

By the end of the second week, he was unbuttoning his pants after lunch.

By midway through the third week, Dean came down to the IT office to see that Sam had his pants unbuttoned before lunch had even arrived. There were wrinkles in his button-up shirt that hadn’t been there before, a slight pull to the fabric where his middle was expanding, and it gave Dean a tingle of joy to see it. Even with the button undone, Sam’s pants were cutting ever-so-slightly into his belly, which rounded ever-so-slightly over the waistband. 

He ate the meatball sub and mountain of fries the cafeteria delivered, then ate the personal cherry pie and ice-cream cup that had come with it. He sat back in his seat, hand resting on his stomach, and burped. “Ugh,” he said, fingers playing with his too-tight waistband. “Don’t you wish there were no dress code here?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Be nice to wear jeans once and a while, huh?”

Sam ran a thumb between his khakis and his belly, looking uncomfortable. “Really nice.”

*

That night, after a dinner of take-out Chinese food (the rice was buttered) and half a carton of ice cream, Sam unzipped his pants instead of just unbuttoning them. His belly was noticeably rounder, pressing up against the fabric of his button-up, and he pushed his hand into the center of it even while he reached for the rest of the ice cream with his other hand. He spooned some into his mouth, straight from the carton, and then set it down, wincing. He sipped air, burped, and took another bite of ice cream, his pants unzipped and hanging around his waist in a way that made Dean so hot. It was a marvel, Dean thought, that he could even zip them in the morning.

Sam changed into sweatpants after dinner, and the next day, he changed into sweatpants the second he got home from work. There were red marks in his hips from where his pants had cut into him. He sat at the dinner table, hunched over his food, and without the confines of his work pants Dean could see how his belly had gotten rounder, was swelling out from his torso and sticking out over the waistband – just a tiny bit, but enough that Dean could see. 

“Dean,” Sam said, licking butter off his fingers. “Are you trying to make me fat?”

Dean froze. “Wha-,” he stuttered.

“Because I’ve put on ten pounds since I moved in here,” Sam continuted. “And you’ve been feeding me the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever eaten.”

“Ten pounds?” Dean blurted, and knew, in that moment, that he’d been caught. He sounded excited.

“You are!” Sam said, incredulous. “Holy shit!”

“No,” Dean tried, but Sam was already shaking his head, a tiny smile playing around the edges of his lips.

“It’s okay, dude,” Sam says, “just be honest with me, okay? Have you been feeding me this way on purpose?”

“Maybe a little,” Dean mumbled, beet-red. “It’s just – I can’t eat that stuff, Sammy, but you can – you really can, I mean, my god you can put it away, and you look so happy doing it, and it’s just – there’s something about – I don’t know, I just—”

“Listen,” Sam said, “I love eating this way. I love that you’re taking care of me. But I wish you’d talked to me.”

“You’re not mad?” Dean said, disbelieving. 

“No,” Sam said. “I mean, I kind of figured? You watch me, with this look on your face… so I thought, okay, I’ll see what happens, and…” he patted his stomach. “This happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “Sam, I—”

“If we’re going to do this,” Sam said firmly, “I just want to know about it.”

“So you… you wouldn’t mind…”

“Experimenting?” Sam said. “No. I’m kind of interested. And like I said… I like when you take care of me. I like it when you’re in control. So long as I know.”

“Okay,” Dean said, mind trying to process. “So if I – if I wanted to take control, and maybe – see what happened if – you gained some weight – that would be okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, and took a bite of ice cream. “To tell you the truth, it feels kind of good, to be so full.”

Dean leaned forward. “How does it feel?”

Sam took another big bite of ice cream, sucked on the spoon and swallowed before answering. “It hurts a little,” he said, and rubbed the side of his stomach. “But in a nice way. I feel… big. And lazy, and sleepy. All stretched-out.”

Dean scootched his chair forward and splayed his hand on Sam’s belly. “Ten pounds in three weeks,” Dean said. “I think we can do better than that, don’t you?”

“I trust you,” Sam said, meeting his eyes. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

So Dean began to plan. 

*

Sam wasn’t surprised by the intensity with which Dean approached the new project. He was a perfectionist in everything he did, and Sam had to admit he liked having that businesslike intensity focused on him.

Dean’s main strategy was to keep Sam eating. Constantly. He kept cooking those huge breakfasts, and while Sam ate he would assemble snacks for the day, along with a list of instructions.

Snickers bar: to be finished by 11am.  
Bag of peanuts: to be finished by 2pm.  
6 donuts: to be finished by 5pm.  
Jumbo bag of potato chips: to be finished by bedtime.

Timing, Sam learned, was everything. He left the house at 8:30 every morning, full to the brim with eggs and bacon, and for the first hour of work he would sit in a food-stupor and move as little as possible, answering the phones in a sort of greasy haze. As soon as the haze began to retreat, and his stomach felt a little less like a balloon, he’d eat his first snack. A candy bar, usually, and he’d eat it quickly, trying to fool his body into thinking he was less full than he was. After the first snack, he’d work slowly on the second one, taking a bite every fifteen minutes or so, stifling burps behind his hand. It was amazing how gassy he got, eating all the time. He could feel the contents of his overfull stomach moving around, and he found it was most comfortable to lean his desk chair back at something of an incline, so he wasn’t putting any undue pressure on his belly.

By the time lunch rolled around, he was ready. Dean showed up right when lunch did, and would check on his snack progress before settling down to watch him eat. Sam had a small room to himself, and they would close the door and Dean would put his hands on Sam’s stomach as it filled, which felt nice. 

Sam’s pants didn’t fit as well as they once had, but he could still get them on, so he was holding out on getting new pairs, though based on his new food regimen he knew it wouldn’t be long. He had to unbutton them before lunch, and it was getting to be a struggle to button them back up when he had to leave his little office. He found that he had to tug them down below the gentle but unmistakable curve of his belly, which fascinated him – he’d always been a fit guy, and he was giving that up, for what? For Dean. For the strange excitement the feedings gave both of them.

On Friday morning of the first week, Sam had polished off 4 donuts, two Butterfingers, and a cup of instant macaroni and cheese on top of his huge greasy breakfast, and he was seriously uncomfortable. It was more than he’d usually had by lunchtime, since he’d pushed himself to finish some of Dean’s prescribed snacks early, just to see what happened. What happened was pain. He felt full all the way up to his lungs: it was hard to catch his breath, almost like he’d been exercising, and his work slacks felt like they were cutting him in half. He took off his belt and unbuttoned, pushing them down to try and give his stomach more room, but it didn’t relieve any pressure, so with a guilty glance to his door, he unzipped. It felt amazing, and he rolled his boxers down, too, noting that even their elastic was leaving marks on his sides. 

His belly rounded out into the space his unzipped pants allowed it, pressing against the crisp buttoned cotton of his shirt. He wished he could take the shirt off, too, but just in case someone came in, that would be even harder to explain. It felt tight, though, tight all over, and too hot. He put a hand over his stomach, digging his fingers in a little, trying to massage away some of the pressure, and it felt so good he couldn’t help but sigh in contentment. The sides of his belly felt itchy, like they’d been stretched too far, and he rubbed soothing circles over them. 

There was a knock at his door, and Dean said, “Sam?”

“Come in,” Sam said, and Dean entered, carrying a lunch bag. He closed the door quickly behind him and stood there, staring. 

Sam knew how he must look. Leaned back in his chair, legs splayed, pants unzipped, full belly mounding out in front of him: he grinned at the expression on Dean’s face, and reached out to tug his boyfriend over for a deep kiss. 

“Ready for lunch?” Dean said when he pulled away, and Sam groaned as he started unpacking the food.

A huge serving of lasagna, onion rings, and a big bowl of cheesy potato soup made up the main course: for dessert there was a giant slice of banana cream pie, and a bottle of full-fat chocolate milk.

“Dude,” Sam said, as a warning, “I don’t know if I can handle all this right now. I finished the donuts, the candy, and the macaroni and cheese already.”

“Tough,” Dean said cheerfully, and handed him the soup. “You’re on my rules, remember?”

Sam looked down into the thick, creamy soup, and took a deep breath. He didn’t bother with the spoon, he just started chugging it, trying to get it down as fast as possible so he could move on to the next thing. He could feel it, warm in his stomach, filling in all the nooks and crannies, and he finished it with a gasp, wiping his hand across his mouth. 

Dean looked impressed. “Shit,” he said. “That’s one way to do it.”

“Lasagna,” Sam said, and Dean handed over the lasagna. Like the soup, he tried to eat it quickly, ignoring his body’s protests, but even though he was already full, he couldn’t help but notice how delicious it was, how cheesy and saucy, and he smacked his lips in pleasure. Ugh, he was full, though. He shifted in his seat and pressed his hand into his stomach, trying to get a full breath of air. He’d only eaten half the lasagna and could feel his stomach gurgling. He swallowed hard, and then let out a long, low burp that made him feel better almost immediately. 

“Nice,” Dean joked, and Sam shoveled another spoonful of lasagna into his mouth, swallowed, and burped again, then kept going. He managed to finish the entire thing, and sat back in his chair, panting. Dean patted his forehead with a tissue and Sam realized he was sweating heavily, too. His belly was positively straining against his shirt, now, and he winced as he tried to massage it. 

“Here,” Dean said. “Forget the onion rings. Let’s just get this pie into you.”

Sam hiccupped. “I can’t,” he said weakly, but opened his mouth when Dean sent the loaded fork towards his lips. It seemed to take all his effort to swallow, but he did, and he did again, and again, until the pie was gone and Sam was wheezing with the effort. 

“Look at you,” Dean said. “You can’t even move.”

It was true. Sam felt he could barely lift his arms. 

“Okay,” Dean said, and put his hands over Sam’s taut stomach. “You can leave the onion rings and the chocolate milk, since you did so well with your snacks – but you have to finish them before you leave work, okay?”

Sam nodded, too full to speak. He felt nauseous and a little dizzy, but felt better as soon as Dean started massaging his tight belly. 

He stayed full all through the end of the workday, and noticed with concern that it was almost time to go home and he still hadn’t eaten the onion rings, cold on his desk, or drank the chocolate milk, so he chugged the milk as fast as he could and then ate the onion rings without hardly even chewing. 

The problem was, though, that he couldn’t zip up his pants. He tried to suck his belly in, but he was too full and it hurt to try, and there was no way his pants were closing. There was almost an inch between the two flaps. Dismayed, he fastened his belt loosely and tugged his shirt down over them and checked himself out in his computer’s photobooth – as long as he moved slowly, and no one looked too close, it was hard to tell his pants weren’t together.

He was amazed, though, at how round his belly looked. He could see its outline through his shirt, could see where it began to curve under his pecs. He’d never been so full before, never. 

When he and Dean got home, Dean sent him off to rest before dinner. Sam couldn’t even imagine eating another meal, but he changed into sweatpants and a roomy t-shirt and collapsed onto his bed, where he fell asleep almost immediately, worn out from his big day of eating.

Dean woke him a few hours later to the smell of something spicy, and though Sam still felt sleepy and bloated, he felt ready to eat something again. Dinner was chili, and Sam watched as Dean ceremoniously added the requisite stick of butter, melting into the bubbling meat and tomatoes. Dean handed him a giant bowl of it, covered in shredded cheese, and Sam dug in as Dean ate his grilled chicken and spinach. By the second bowl, he had to lean back in his chair, holding the food to his chest, and by the third bowl he paused to roll down his sweatpants, positioning them below his stomach. By the fourth bowl he felt that familiar breathlessness, and by the fifth bowl he was panting and burping and rubbing his hugely swollen stomach. 

Dessert was half a blender full of milkshake, with ice cream and heavy cream and weight gain powder, and Sam chugged it stoically, gasping for air. With every burp or hiccup he worried he was going to puke, and he didn’t bother covering his mouth, just let loose. Dean helped him into the living room and Sam lay with his head on Dean’s lap, both of them rubbing his belly. He staggered off to bed not soon after, and paused before the mirror, looking at the tight roundness of his stomach. 

Is that what I’m going to look like? Sam wondered, passing a hand over the curve of it. He couldn’t tell how much was bloat and how much was gain, and as he drifted into sleep, one hand still kneading his stomach, he felt a tingle of real curiosity and excitement. He’d never been this full, this round before. He didn’t know how he was going to eat a giant Saturday breakfast tomorrow.

*

He needn’t have worried. He woke up starving. Dean went all out: it was their first weekend going at this together, and aside from the usual eggs and bacon there were waffles and ice cream, and Dean made Sam drink a glass of heavy whipping cream instead of his usual chocolate milk. Sam slathered butter all over everything, loving the feeling of pure freedom it gave him, and loving the way Dean was watching him. 

His belly still felt a little tender, and it was still a little bloated, but he managed to eat all day long. Whatever Dean handed him, he ate, and he scarcely moved from the couch the entire weekend. The most exercise he got was giving Dean a blowjob. 

On Monday morning, he couldn’t button his pants. Hell he couldn’t even zip them, and he hadn’t had one bite of food yet. He poked his stomach, staring at himself in the mirror, and yeah, his belly definitely wasn’t flat anymore. It was convex, a gentle slope, not noticeable under his big t-shirt but pretty clear under his button-up. 

Dean, watching him try and get the pants done-up, smirked triumphantly. 

“We outgrew your first pair of pants,” he said. “Congratulations. How does it feel?”

“Frustrating,” Sam grunted, still struggling, hoping against hope. “How the hell am I supposed to go to work like this?”

“You’re not,” Dean said, swooping in behind him and petting his belly like it was a beloved pet. “You’re going to call in sick. I’ll pick you up another pair of khakis on the way home, how does that sound?”

Sam stepped out of his pants. Even his elastic boxers felt a little tight, he thought, picking a wedgie and rolling the waistband down to give his stomach more room. “Better get me a size up,” he said. “I can’t be calling in sick every three weeks.”

“Three weeks, huh,” Dean said, surveying him. “Tell you what. I bet I can get you up another size in two.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Look who’s Mr. Confidence,” he said.

Dean smacked him on the ass and grinned when Sam yelped. “Put your sweatpants on, chunky,” he said. “Breakfast is in ten minutes.”

Sam enjoyed his day off. As per Dean’s demands, he ordered a pizza for lunch and managed to eat the whole thing by the time Dean came home from work. Not to mention half a cheesecake, a bag of corn chips with an entire jar of cheese sauce, and a carton of heavy whipping cream that he mixed with chocolate syrup. He was getting used to be stuffed so full, and he felt incredibly sexy and lazy, just lying around all day eating and rubbing his belly and waiting for his boyfriend to get home and feed him more.

The new pants Dean got were two sizes up from Sam’s usual size, and they fit loosely and comfortably. Sam’s workday got a lot easier now that he didn’t have to be unbuttoning his pants all the time. He was out a few notches on his belt, too, though he didn’t think he looked that different.

Ruby from accounting apparently thought differently, however.

“Dang,” she said, thwapping him in the stomach as she passed him in the hall. “You’d think living with nutrition-freak Smith would slim you down, not puff you up.”

“It’s love,” Sam said, grinning in a way he knew would annoy her. “It fills the heart, and the body.”

“Yeah, well, watch it,” she said. “Don’t want Mr. Fit to dump your chunky ass.”

“I’m not too worried about that,” Sam said mildly, though he was laughing inside. If only she knew.

*

It was amazing, Dean thought, to watch his boyfriend changing. Sam didn’t seem to realize how tight his shirts were getting, not just in the belly, but in the shoulders, too, pulling when he reached forward, wrinkling awkwardly when he moved. Standing up he was okay, but when he sat down and his belly rounded outwards, it was clear that the shirts were too small. Dean could see him pluck uncomfortably at them during the day, tugging them down when he stood up, trying to get them to sit right on his body, but there was just no way.

Even his comfy old t-shirts were fitting differently – Dean could see the little swell of Sam’s stomach when he moved around, and as Sam continued to eat, they began to ride up, a wrinkle forming where they rested across the crest of his belly.

Just one week after the first pair of new pants, Sam was unbuttoning after dinner again. Two weeks, and he was unzipping before lunch. His fast growth surprised both of them, though it stood to reason – Sam was eating constantly, always had his mouth full, and his capacity was growing along with his body. He could put away a whole pizza and a half without batting an eyelash, and he was going through a pint of ice cream a day, easy. 

After the first month or so of living together, Sam had put on twenty-five pounds, going from 190 to 215, and it showed. His new belly was unmistakable now, and the office was beginning to giggle about it and whisper. Sam was very popular at Sandover, and the comments were good-natured, and Sam secretly loved being teased about it. He started to snack outside of the confines of his little office, and leave the door open, just so his friends would joke about his eating habits.

“Slow down there,” Chuck said, watching Sam throw out a Twinkie wrapper and start in on another. “You’re going to turn into a Twinkie one of these days.”

“Mmf,” Sam said, mouth full. “Love ‘em.”

Fifteen minutes later, Chuck poked his head into Sam’s office to find him leaning back in his chair and munching on the jumbo-sized bag of Doritos Dean had prescribed to be eaten by lunchtime. Sam was dipping them in a big open tub of cream cheese he had between his knees, the top button of his jeans carelessly undone, and Chuck widened his eyes.

“Dude,” he said. “I know it must be tough eating nothing but rabbit food at home, but that doesn’t mean you have to make up for at work.”

Sam loaded a chip up with a huge hunk of cream cheese. “I don’t follow Dean’s diet at home,” he said, chewing, and he reached for another handful of chips.

“Mr. Smith doesn’t care?” Chuck said. “I mean…” he gestured lamely to where Sam’s belly was straining against his zipper and the buttons of his shirt.

“Nah,” Sam said. “He loves me no matter what. He’s only weird about his own body, not mine.”

“Shit,” Chuck said. “I’m jealous. Becky gets on my case if I so much as look at Doritos.”

Sam offered him the bag, and Chuck shook his head, watching Sam scrape the sides of the cream cheese tub. It was mostly gone – Dean would be pleased. 

He went down to the cafeteria with his friends that day, since Dean had a meeting, and he enjoyed the way they stared as he loaded up his tray. He’d gotten an email from Dean and he followed it exactly: A double bacon cheeseburger, fries, onion rings, a side of gravy, two pieces of pepperoni pizza, a slice of cheesecake, and an oversized chocolate chip cookie, all washed down with a super-size Coke from the soda machine. 

“Okay, ‘fess up,” Ruby said, stealing a french fry. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yup,” Sam said complacently, and slapped his slices of pizza together to make a pizza sandwich. It was easier to eat pizza like that, he’d discovered, as if he could fool his body into thinking it was only one slice. He took a huge bite.

“You sure look pregnant,” Ruby continued, trying to get a rise out of him. He just leaned back in his chair, shifting around, trying to get comfortable. He had some dignity, after all, and he wasn’t about to unzip his pants right here and now, although he was already uncomfortable and he’d barely started his lunch.

“I guess I’ve put on a few,” Sam admitted, patting his stomach with one hand and finishing off his pizza sandwich with the other. He ate a handful of onion rings and stifled a small burp. “Excuse me.”

Ruby stabbed a leaf of her salad and looked on jealously as he dipped his burger in the gravy and took a bite. She was done with her lunch around the same time he finished his burger, and she sat impatiently as he worked his way through the fries (drenched in gravy), the rest of the onion rings, the cheesecake, and the cookie. He was slowing down by the time he started in on the cheesecake, and it was an effort to get each bite to his lips, but he didn’t want Ruby to know that. 

“Delicious,” he said, and patted his stomach again, as an excuse to rub it a little. It was starting to ache. He gave in and unbuttoned, and Ruby cackled as he did so.

“Fat ass,” she said, and Sam just smiled and slurped up the last of his coke.

*

Finally, Sam couldn’t ignore his too-tight shirts anymore – he was having trouble getting them buttoned over his belly in the morning, and they felt so confining as he ate throughout the day. 

“I don’t want to get you new shirts,” Dean said, his hands on the sides of Sam’s stomach, measuring. “You look so hot like this.”

Sam batted his hands down. “It’s not comfortable,” he said. “Don’t you want me comfortable? I can’t eat if I’m not comfortable.”

“True,” Dean conceded, and they went to the mall together. They grabbed another pair of pants, three sizes up this time, lots of room to spare, and Sam looked down into the space between the waistband and his belly and tried to imagine being big enough to fit that. It seemed far away. A good goal, though.

*

The new shirts were a big help. Still, though, when Sam was home he preferred to be in sweats and a t-shirt, though he noticed with surprise that even his biggest, roomiest t-shirts were starting to cling to him. They would ride up without him noticing and bunch around the curve of his stomach, and in the mirror he could see the outline of his belly button.

Dean loved it. He took every excuse to touch Sam’s belly or give him an affectionate pat on his growing ass. And growing it was. Sam’s sweatpants had started to cling to his cheeks, and they were no longer so comfortable in the crotch area as his thighs got thicker. It was strange, being heavier, getting bigger – Sam had to carry himself differently. He’d get off-balance sometimes, unused to the new weight, and instead of lowering himself into chairs he felt he dropped into them gracelessly. He liked being big, liked hearing things start to creak when he sat down, but it was a little bit more uncomfortable than he’d bargained for.

By the second month, he was up another fifteen pounds – his gain had slowed a little, and in one moment it seemed it had stopped, but Dean simply stepped up the regimen. Dean was incredibly good at calculating calories, and Sam was incredibly good at eating, so he continued to gain, steadily. 

Even the extra fifteen pounds felt different, though. 235 felt a lot different than 215, not only because even his comfiest clothes were tight.

And 250, when he hit it the month after, felt even more different. 

It looked different, too. Dean watched Sam move around and it pleased him to no end. Everything was subtly different, and he loved every bit of it. He didn’t know if Sam noticed, but he was grunting a lot more – when he leaned over, when he stood up from a chair, when he flopped onto the couch, even when he was eating. He was a lot more noisy in general. He was often gassy, burping as he ate to try and make room in his stomach, and then hiccupping and farting afterwards. It was a consequence of the enormous amounts of food he was packing away, and Dean adored it. He took pride in it.

He, too, liked to watch Sam get teased at work. He liked coming down into the IT room and asking Chuck to get “my chubby boyfriend,” watching Chuck blush and scurry to obey. Dean would follow, and inevitably find Sam sitting in his desk chair, pants button undone, leaning back as far as he could go, chewing a handful of Cheez-its or methodically demolishing a box of donuts. 

“Hey, uh, your – Mr. Smith wants to see you,” Chuck would say, gesturing to Dean, who leaned in the doorway and watched with amusement as Sam scootched forward to the edge of his chair and hoisted himself up, belly leading the way. 

It was in his belly that most of the weight was going, and with every pound Sam got a little rounder.

By 260, his stomach touched his thighs when he sat down, and by 270, it legitimately sat in his lap like a child. Sam was always touching it, too, which drove Dean wild – he was nearly always full, so he often had one hand patting his belly, soothing it to aid his digestion, and he’d started resting his hands on it. They had nowhere else to go – they couldn’t go on his lap, and his arms had chunked up so it wasn’t as comfortable to keep them hanging by his sides. Sam rested food on his belly sometimes, too, like a pregnant woman, and it was maybe Dean’s favorite thing ever – to see Sam lean back on the couch with a huge bowl of ice cream, the bottom of the bowl resting lightly on his belly as he shoveled the creamy dessert into his mouth. 

A few nights a week, Dean woke Sam up for midnight feedings, and he loved watching his boyfriend sit sleepily at the kitchen table, t-shirt riding up over the swell of his belly, the pudgy underside of it sticking out as Sam spooned ice cream out of a carton or licked frosting from Dean’s fingertips. Sam was pliable during these late nights, and once he managed to eat a whole coconut cream pie, obediently letting Dean feed him spoonful after spoonful even while he was panting for breath. 

A new marker of gain was how far his belly went on his legs. Dean took great pleasure in marking it with a Sharpie every week. At first it wasn’t much, just an inch or so, but slowly it began to creep forward. Sam was a tall guy, and 250 on him wasn’t like 250 on a guy even a few inches shorter, but by 270 he was looking truly hefty, and at 280 he looked fat. Not hugely fat by any means, but decidedly overweight. His tummy stuck out far enough that he had to spread his legs when he wanted to bend over from a sitting position, and he had to reach around it when he wanted to tie his shoes. 

The office still gave Sam endless shit for it, and he still loved it when they did. He didn’t hold back at work, and his co-workers even started getting into it, too.

“There was a birthday on the 3rd floor,” Ruby would say, dropping a giant piece of cake on his desk. “Eat your heart out, fatso.”

Or, “Becky’s niece was selling Girl Scout Cookies and I thought you might want some,” from Chuck.

No matter how full Sam was from Dean’s orders, he always ate whatever was given to him. He barely even had to think about it any more – he could put away huge amounts of food that even three months ago he wouldn’t have been able to finish. It wasn’t unusual for him to eat 2 pizzas in one sitting, and Dean must have been spending a small fortune on ice cream.

Some things, of course, were not so nice about gaining so much weight so quickly. Red stretch marks spidered all up and down Sam’s sides, and his back had started hurting. Too, it was getting a little harder to get dressed each morning – by 290, putting on his shoes left him red-faced and wheezing, and he found that he sweat a lot more than he used to. The months and months of pure laziness were taking their toll, and even walking from the car to his office sometimes left him a tiny bit out of breath. His belly moved when he walked, for one thing, and he could feel his ass jiggle, too, which was partially arousing and partially annoying. 

By 300 it was harder to reach his desk – his belly got in the way. He felt like he was wedging himself in each morning, bellying right up to the edge of the desk, spreading his legs a bit to give his belly more room. On the one hand, he loved feeling so big – he couldn’t even believe all this was him, sometimes – but on the other hand, it was irritating to have to work around his stomach when he wanted to type.

He found the solution, though – if he raised his chair high enough, he could put his belly on the desk. That helped.

Their sex life was amazing – that helped, too. With every pound Sam gained, he got hornier, and so did Dean. They discovered sensitive spots that hadn’t been there before, like Sam’s fleshier chest, which had embarrassed him at first, two little pudgy handfuls of breasts beginning to rest on his belly, but Dean loved them, and it felt wonderful to have them touched and fondled.

One late night, Sam was leaning back on the couch with a tub of ice cream, squirming around a little trying to get comfortable. He was very, very full, after having eaten 2 family-sized Stouffer’s mac and cheese and half a chocolate pie not three hours earlier, and the ice cream was doing the trick to get him packed tight. He massaged his belly, moving his arms around a little to find a good place to put them. His belly was so heavy, pinning him down, and while he loved it, it definitely made it harder to move. He had just hit 310 and could no longer see his feet, which Dean had celebrated with an epic blowjob and a tender belly massage.

Sam sucked on a spoonful of ice cream, and Dean came into the living room with a tray of warm brownies. He wedged himself onto the couch next to his boyfriend and gently placed a piece of the chocolate between Sam’s ice cream smeared lips. He patted the slice of belly that hung out from beneath Sam’s t-shirt, round on his lap. 

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” Dean said. “I think we both could use a vacation.”

Sam swallowed the last of his second brownie. “Oh yeah? What’d you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean said, absentmindedly straightening Sam’s shirt. “You, me, a cabin in Hawaii, and a whole month of all-you-can-eat buffets?”

Sam looked at him. “You’ve got it all planned out already, don’t you?”

Dean grinned wickedly. “Whaddaya say?”

“Are you kidding?” Sam said. “I say fuck yes.”

“That’s my boy,” Dean said, and leaned over to suck a kiss into the flesh below Sam’s jaw. He was developing, to Sam’s slight dismay and Dean’s utter joy, the beginnings of a true double chin. “We just bought you some new clothes – I say, by the end of the month, we’ll eat you out of them.”

“You’re the boss,” Sam said, and burped behind his hand. When he took his hand down, Dean had another brownie waiting.

*

Sam was 320 by the time they’d arranged time off, hovering around 323 on the day they left.

On the plane to Honolulu, Dean whispered in Sam’s ear, “Next year you’re not going to be able to fit in these seats.”

“It’s already a tight fit,” Sam said, plucking at the seatbelt slung beneath his stomach. 

“Gonna be even tighter by the time we land,” Dean said. They were in first class and Dean kept the food coming, a steady flow of it. If the stewardesses disapproved, they were utterly professional and didn’t show it. Sam ate three cheese plates, eight mini-quiches, an order of ravioli, a steak with mashed potatoes, and six slices of chocolate cake. He was full when they disembarked, but not that full.

Dean had booked them a beautiful little cabana by the ocean. There was a buffet for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as well as a snack bar and free-flowing drinks. Dean had also bought Sam a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of shorts. The shirt fit him well, slid smoothly over his belly and didn’t pull at all when he moved, and the shorts were perfect, too. He raised an eyebrow at Dean.

“I’ve got three more outfits just like it,” Dean said. “And that’s all you’re going to wear for the rest of the trip. Understand?”

“Understood,” Sam said, grinning. Dean wanted to get these clothes tight, and by god Sam was going to help.

“Furthermore,” Dean said, “I want to do something about this.” He patted the underside of Sam’s belly.

“Do something?” Sam said, puzzled. 

“See how your belly juts out?” Dean said. “It stands up like a perky tit? Well, I want to make it sag. I want this,” he tapped the underside again, “to hang down over your waistband. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Sam said.

“Good,” Dean beamed, and leaned over his belly to kiss him. “Ready for dinner?”

“Lead the way.”

There weren’t many other vacationers in the dining area, and it was a nice space: lit up with tiki-torches, the sound of the ocean, a nice wooden deck, and best of all, an enormous spread of food. Sam looked at Dean expectantly, waiting for his orders.

“I’m going to make this vacation easy,” Dean said, a wicked glint in his eye. “Just eat until I tell you to stop. Eat whatever you want, just don’t stop ‘til I say so.”

Sam filled up his first plate with a little bit of everything, piled it high and then took it carefully back to their table. It was an eclectic buffet, and it had everything from french fries and fried chicken to empanadas to bratwurst. Sam cleared his plate, and went back up for round two. Round three. Round four.

By his fifth plate, Sam was glancing up at Dean, wondering when he was going to say stop, but Dean just leaned back in his chair and grinned, looking beautiful in the candle light and the light of the moon.

“Onward ho, Sammy,” he chuckled.

Sam pushed himself out of his chair with some difficulty, and went to the dessert table to see what they had. He helped himself to a bowl of ice cream, his old standard, and loaded up another plate with several slices of pie and cake. The less he had to get up, the better, he figured.

By the time he’d finished his ice cream, he was getting really fucking full, and he regretted getting all that cake – more ice cream would go down easier. But he picked up his fork and started chewing, stopping every so often to suck in a difficult breath and let out a burp. Chew, breath, burp. Chew, breath, burp. He leaned back in his chair and brought the dessert plate up to rest on his belly, closer to his face, and began again to eat. Beneath the table, where no one could see, Dean gently massaged his belly.

He finished the plate of cake and set it down with a thud. He was wheezing a little, mouth hanging open, crumbs dotting the front of his shirt, but he was too full to brush them away.

“A little more of something,” Dean said. “Then you’re done. Take your pick.”

Sam chose ice cream, and Dean went to fetch it for him, came back with the bowl piled high. Sam groaned when he saw it. 

“Now, now,” Dean said. “We have time. No need to rush. Just finish that and then we’ll get you into bed, how’s that sound?”

It sounded wonderful. Dean waited patiently as Sam began spooning the ice cream into his mouth, resting the dish on the swell of his bloated belly. He tried to go as fast as he could but he had to stop to catch his breath once or twice. By the time he was done his belly was aching and heavy and his skin was itching, so stretched out he could practically feel the stretchmarks forming. He rubbed the sides of his stomach, moaning.

“You did so good, baby,” Dean murmured. “Ready to go home?”

Sam nodded, but it was a few more minutes before he felt ready to move. He pushed himself up, feeling his stomach sloshing around, so incredibly full, and he moved slowly down the path back to the cabin, arching his back like a pregnant woman. Dean had one hand resting on the top of Sam’s widening ass, and the light touch was a promise of good things to come. It was enough to have Sam moving just a little bit faster back to their cabin.

Dean gave him a slow, gently, mind-blowing blowjob that night – Sam was too full to do anything else. He just lay there, feeling Dean’s head bump up against his belly. Even when flat on his back his tummy rose up before him in a heavy mound, and he rubbed it as Dean blew him, trying to ease the fullness, burping and panting and finally moaning as he came.

He fell asleep almost instantly, woke up for fifteen minutes at 3am so Dean could lovingly feed him 2 slices of cheesecake he must have ordered earlier that day, and although he was still insanely full he was so sleepy that the cake went down easily and he drifted back into sleep. 

The next morning at breakfast, they went by the same rule, and Sam packed away 7 whole plates of food: croissants, muffins, donuts, bagels, bacon, eggs, pancakes, everything absolutely covered in butter, which Dean applied liberally from the stick on their table. Sam ate an entire stick of butter that morning, and had to sit at the table for a solid half hour before he felt ready to get up. 

The rest of the day was spent by the pool, reading or watching Dean swim laps or letting Dean rub sunscreen onto his still-gurgling belly. The free drinks were amazing, and he let Dean order him several concoctions – a Piña Colada, a Daiquiri, and a Margarita. By lunchtime he was just a tiny bit buzzed, and the first few plates of food went by easily.

The fourth plate, though, was hard. Sam was still stuffed from earlier, and all the rich food was making him feel a bit nauseous. He’d had two cheeseburgers, a plate of lasagna, a plate of fried chicken, and countless french fries, and still Dean made no move to stop him. So he got a dish of ice cream, which always went down easily, and dropped back into his chair. 

Three dishes of ice cream later, and he was out of breath just like at breakfast, hiccupping and burping and wheezing. His belly was bloated and firm and Dean’s hands felt amazing, but still it hurt. Sam rested a hand on it and closed his eyes. When a spoonful of ice cream hit his lips, he opened his mouth and swallowed automatically. Then another. And another.

Finally, Dean said, “Okay. You’re done. You’re amazing.”

“Ugh,” Sam said. He was sticky from ice cream. Dean patted his belly and he burped, like he was a baby over someone’s shoulder. “Here I thought I could eat anything,” Sam said. “Guess you proved me wrong.”

“You ready for thirty days of this?” Dean said, and Sam didn’t have to open his eyes to see the grin on his face.

Sam hiccupped. “Guess I have to be.”

And so it went. Sam was eating more than he’d ever eaten, more than he’d ever thought he could eat, so much he was making himself sick, and he and Dean both loved it. Huge breakfast, sugary drinks, huge lunch, drinks and some snacks, dinner, and then a late-night feeding, every night. One night Dean managed to pack Sam full of an entire key lime pie, to both of their astonishment. 

By only the third day, Sam’s shorts felt a tiny bit snug. Was that even possible? he wondered, fingering the button after dinner. He’d been 323 when they left – could he have gained weight already? The rule was they wouldn’t weigh him ‘til they got back home, letting the clothing be a measure of his gain. He ate another bite of pudding and patted his swelling stomach fondly. 

By the end of the first week, the shorts were definitely tight, and the shirt wasn’t loose anymore. Sam was unbuttoning the pants before dinner even started, and even the ass felt a bit snug. He loved being in their cabin, where all he wore was a Japanese robe that was huge and silky.

He loved, too, the life of utter lazy luxury that he was living. The only movement he did was walking to the dining area or the pool – the rest of the time he was lying in a beach chair. After lunch he’d take a nap, and he went to bed early every night, so full from dinner that there was nothing he could do but sleep it off.

By the second week, the shorts were uncomfortable, the shirt was riding up against the curve of his stomach, and Sam could feel that he’d gained weight. He had no idea how much – 5 pounds? 10? – but he found himself struggling to sit up in the mornings, and his belly was heavier. His thighs felt bigger too, were rubbing together even more, and the shorts clung to his butt and bunched uncomfortably around his crotch. 

Dean didn’t let up on the eating regimen, and Sam himself was impressed with how much he was eating. His belly wasn’t entirely happy with him, and he found himself farting even more than usual, constantly burping or passing gas, trying to deal with the unbelievable amounts of food in his body, but as long as Dean didn’t mind, Sam didn’t mind. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, and noticed that his chin was sunk into a pocket of fat – he had a real double chin now. His back rolls felt more prominent, too, especially when he sat down, and he could feel his underbelly filling out, as Dean had desired – it was getting plumper, getting lower and rounder, and it spread out further on his lap. It was more comfortable now to sit with his legs spread, so his chunky thighs had enough room and so his belly could settle into the space between them.

Sam realized that he was fat, now. Not just hefty, not just overweight: he was fat. It was amazing to think. He had been so fit, so trim, and now he had this enormous, heavy belly and this big wide ass and chubby arms and a double chin. And he’d never been so happy in his life.

By the third week, he was truly busting out of his clothes. He had to safety-pin the shorts, since the button no longer met beneath his belly, and the shirt rode up almost whenever he moved. Even the sleeves were tight across Sam’s arms, and it was uncomfortable to sit down, his stomach pressing unhappily against the fabric. His lovehandles bulged out the sides.

And his stomach was, indeed, beginning to sag. It felt so much heavier, too, weighing Sam down, and it was impossibly rounder – he could settle both arms across it now, like a real shelf, and he could even balance a plate there, not just rest it.

If Sam felt the difference, Dean saw it. His boyfriend was again beginning to carry himself differently, even had a slight waddle to his walk, and he had one hand cradling his gut at every moment, always resting atop it or massaging it or just stroking it. He was so full, all the time – Dean could see that, too. It was second nature for Sam now, to be out-of-breath with fullness, and he absentmindedly wheezed and burped throughout the whole day. As soon as he stopped burping, that’s when Dean knew to feed him more. He kept him as full as he could without putting Sam in any real pain. 

By the time they left Hawaii, two buttons had come off Sam’s shirt, and he hadn’t been able to zip the shorts for three days.

He didn’t fit into the clothes he’d come in, either, so he let Dean go and buy him an outfit from town while he sat in their bed and polished off a coconut cream cake, trying to finish it before Dean got back. He’d grown sloppy in his eating habits – he just wanted to get as much food in him as possible, no matter how he did it, and by the time Dean came in the door Sam was licking his chubby hands, covered in frosting. His belly was heaving from the effort and he was sweating profusely.

An hour later, Dean was covered in frosting, too, from Sam’s hands running all over him.

Sam’s belly had sagged, though not as much as Dean might have hoped – it was still impressively perky and round, though now it definitely sloped over Sam’s waistband. He had to lift it up now in order to zip up his pants, even when standing. 

The plane ride home was tighter, too – the seatbelt dug into Sam in a painful way, and he unbuckled it as soon as he could. He had to lift his belly to do that, too.

The vacation had been amazing, but Sam was happy to be going home; even happy to be going back to work. A full month of doing nothing had left him a bit bored, and he was excited to see his colleagues and friends again, especially with the new weight.

Dean, of course, didn’t let up on the trip back: Sam ate for the whole trip, steadily, his belly nudging the tray on the seatback in front of him. The seat really did feel smaller, especially with his spread thighs – it just wasn’t comfortable any more for him to sit with his legs together. His belly pressed into the armrests, wider now, and even his new pants felt a little too snug, the button pressing hard into the underside of his belly.

He was glad to get back to their beautiful home. Both he and Dean were itching to see the scale and find out exactly how much Sam had grown.

 

The results were staggering: 355. He’d gained a little over thirty pounds in just one month.

“That’s more than a pound a day!” Dean exclaimed. “Holy shit!”

“Holy shit,” Sam echoed, though he wasn’t surprised. He could feel it in his body. Absolutely nothing in the house fit him anymore, only his sweatpants, and even they were snug. He pulled them on, settling them under his belly and marveling at how he had to lift his belly now in order to adjust the drawstring. He put on his biggest t-shirt, and it clung to his stomach and rode up on his love handles, revealing a slice of fat back and the plump underside of his big stomach.

He settled on the couch, feeling huge and pleased, while Dean went out to get Sam some new clothes. Unprompted, he went into the kitchen to see what he could find. They’d finished everything before the vacation, everything except the stuff in the pantry, so Dean came home to find Sam spooning peanut-butter out of a jar that had been full, and was now almost empty.

“Did I tell you to eat that?” Dean asked sternly, but he couldn’t hide his smile.

“I got hungry,” Sam said, and Dean laughed, and leaned over and patted his mound of a stomach. It jiggled beneath his hand.

*

Sam’s co-workers reacted about how Sam thought they would.

“Whoa,” Ruby said when she saw him. “Didn’t know it was a whale-watching vacation.”

“Ha, ha,” Sam said happily. He was wedged into his desk chair, and he didn’t have room to spread his legs, so his belly was in his way even more than usual, rising up from where it lay across his lap. He was still getting used to the added pounds, and admittedly hadn’t quite figured out yet how to type most efficiently.

“Seriously,” Ruby said. “You really blubbered out.”

“I know,” Sam said, and reached for a donut from the box Dean had given him this morning. He took a huge bite and grinned at Ruby through the glaze, and she rolled her eyes, half-disgusted, half-admiring.

Fifteen minutes later, though, she came over with giant cupcake. “They had leftoversin the break room,” she said. “Though you might want to add to that fat ass of yours.”

“Thanks, Ruby,” Sam said.

Chuck was no less polite. “Jesus, what’d you do, eat Hawaii?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” Sam chuckled, patting his belly. He was on his last donut, and he stifled a burp before putting the final bite into his mouth.

“Christ,” Chuck said, eyeing him. “Well. I’m about to go get lunch, you in?”

“Of course,” Sam said. He was aware of Chuck watching him as he unstuck himself from his chair and managed to get to his feet. His belly was definitely leading the way, and the new weight was throwing him off a little, so he was clumsier than usual as he followed Chuck down the hall. He paused in front of the stairwell. “Can we take the elevator?” he said plaintively.

“Sure thing, lard-ass,” Chuck said affectionately, and Sam grinned. He loved his friend’s insulting nicknames, and he thought that on some level they recognized that.

A month of sheer eating had really upped Sam’s capacity, and by the time he’d followed Dean’s instructions (2 personal pepperoni pizzas, a cheeseburger, an order of fries, an order of chicken wings, a brownie and a bowl of ice cream), Sam thought he could handle more. So he texted Dean, done. Anything else?

His phone beeped almost instantly. Another cheeseburger & another brownie.

Chuck’s eyes went enormous when Sam heaved himself up and went back to the front of the line. They got even bigger when he saw what Sam came back with.

“I can’t believe you,” Chuck said.

“Believe it,” Sam said through a mouthful of burger. His phone pinged, and he saw Dean’s text: good boy.

*

Two weeks after their Hawaii vacation, Sam’s clothes were starting to get tight again.

“Again?” Dean cried, mock-unhappy. “You’re eating me out of house and home!”

“Sorry,” Sam said, not sorry at all. He was sitting on their couch with a sack of Big Macs, plowing his way through his third. He stuffed a fistful of french fries in his mouth and let out an enormous burp. The thing about McDonald’s was, he was always hungry soon after eating. Which was, for him and Dean, excellent. 

Dean came back with clothing two sizes up, and Sam couldn’t believe how huge of a waistband he was wearing now. When he held it up, it looked comical, circus-like. Yet when he struggled into it, it wasn’t even all that loose. He thought two Deans could fit in one pair of his pants, which turned him on enormously.

Dean, for his part, noticed that Sam’s belly was sagging even lower, and his love handles were getting wider. When he sat on the couch, he took up more space than he ever had, and he was slower getting to his feet. Tying his shoes was difficult, these days, so Dean bought him several pairs of loafers, which helped.

It was such a turn-on, watching Sam get dressed, watching him grunt his way into his pants and then sink heavily down onto the bed in order to button up his shirt, frowning a little as he tugged at the fabric, trying to get it buttoned.

The month after Hawaii, Sam weighed in at 370. The month after that, 385. And by the time the next day off came around, Sam was a solid 400 pounds.

It was a three-day weekend when he weighed in, and they celebrated with food, of course, and with a whole day in bed. 

Sam was waddling now, his thighs rubbing together and his ass jiggling, and he had another chin to add to his first two. When he sat down, his stomach rounded out huge in front of him, sagging between his thighs. It wedged against the steering wheel when he drove. It was still remarkably round and firm when he stood up, but it was wider than it had been, and his love handles were gigantic. 

That Friday, he ate 3 large pizzas, a large order of chicken wings, a pint of ice cream, and 3 cookies, and lay back on the couch rubbing his enormous belly and burping happily. When Dean came in with a second pint of ice cream, Sam struggled to sit up and accepted it gladly, spooning it into his mouth without a thought. 

“Remember when you couldn’t eat half a pizza by yourself?” Dean asked, nuzzling into Sam’s chubby neck.

“No,” Sam said, and they laughed and laughed.


End file.
